By Every Sigh and Scream We Make
by Belestrange
Summary: A series of RonHermione Vingettes
1. Flustered

Disclaimer: No. I Don't. Shut up.

A/N: And I am about to embark on yet_ another_ random multi-chaptered fic that I will probably never finish. Well, I might. I think I'll try to write one of these a day. They're just random little drabble-vignettes that I write sometimes, and I don't think they're exactly long enough to post as one-shots.

"_Well by now I'm getting all bothered and hot/When he kissed my mouth he really hit the spot"_

_- Christina Aguilera, "Candyman"_

Honestly, I don't think he knows the effect he has on me. If he did, I know he'd smirk at me and find some way to be even more attractive, just to irritate me. Because that's what Ron Weasley does. He spends his days thinking up new ways to irritate me, or at least it seems that way. And his newest tactic (Although I think it's purely unintentional) is to make me…flustered.

It happens every time he walks into a room, and I can't make it stop. It's hard to describe, really, but…well, I suppose it's always been there, it's just more noticeable now. I've no idea why. It's just…I look up, and I see him – and half the time he's looking back at me – and it's like something takes over my body, I swear. I've heard Lavender and Parvati talk about this; I just never noticed it before. I can feel myself heat up, and I just know my cheeks are turning pink, traitorous things that they are. And I sit up perfectly straight, for about half a second, then I feel as though I have to make myself as small as possible, so I sort of curl up in my chair – pull my legs up underneath me, and I start biting my lip, excessively. I mean, it can't be healthy, can it? I can't look at him for fear of what might happen then. I absolutely hate it. Except…I sort of love it, too.

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	2. Fighting

"_Why can't you see right through me/ and my addiction/ for friction/ and contradiction"_

_-Kelly Osbourne, "Contradiction"_

They were both obsessed with it. Obsessed with the surge of adrenaline and the changes that it brought upon each other.

Ron loved to start it – to watch Hermione, as she grew angrier and angrier. He loved her eyes as they darkened and her face heat up, her expression intensified. And when she was absolutely _boiling _with fury, he would give a tiny smirk and make the smallest of insolent remarks, and she would be off:

"Ronald Weasley, how dare you –" and he would gladly counter it with his own rant:

"Well maybe if you – " Harry would sit back, an exasperated expression on his face, sigh, roll his eyes, and then leave them to it. It would eventually end with something along the lines of:

"I _hate_ you, Ron!"

"Well, _I_ hate you _more_!"

Then two angry huffs, two pairs of stomping feet, two dormitory doors, slamming loudly, then…two very, _very_ small…_smiles._

Of course, neither would admit that they actually _enjoyed_ fighting, but just as Ron lived to provoke Hermione, Hermione lived to react to such provocation. She loved forcing her face into a stern look, although she longed to let that small smile escape. She loved rolling her eyes at him, and calling him names – and sometimes they both worried if this little hobby of theirs was very healthy. After all, weren't they supposed to be in love? Wasn't everyone always whispering behind their backs (as though they didn't hear) about how they were apparently having some sort of secret "affair?" And what about the whole business with Lavender? Didn't she break it off with Ron_ because_ of Hermione? Yes. So…the fighting then…perhaps it was their way of expressing passion. Every couple has one, after all. Harry and Ginny did sweet little things for each other – sending love notes and holding hands – which Ron and Hermione found sickening. Fred and Angelina danced. Neville and Luna kept everything quiet. Maybe they were just loud about it.

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	3. Quills

"_Boy, you better put that pen to paper and charm your way out."_

_- Panic! at the Disco, "London Beckoned Songs About Money Written by Machines"_

Quills were Ron's absolute favourite school supply, Parchment was too dry, and it reminded him of long, tedious essays, which Hermione never let him copy. The only thing parchment was truly good for was crumpling up and launching at Malfoy. Ink was just as bad. It was too messy, spilling all the time and getting all over his hands, arms, and – he had no idea how – face. Book bags always managed to rip about halfway through the year and were expensive to replace. Textbooks were dull and had no practical use. But quills – quills could do lots of things. There was, of course, the obvious: writing. Not homework, mind you. Notes. Notes to Hermione, many of which she'd never read, or at least, not for quite a while. Then, he could always poke people with quills, which was always amusing. It set Hermione off spectacularly, caused Harry to hit him (he didn't poke Harry much anymore), and confused Neville horribly, as he couldn't for the life of him figure out who the hell was jabbing him relentlessly in the back, because as soon as he turned around, Ron and Seamus (his Charms partner) were both sitting there, innocently taking notes or practicing. And then, there was of course, the ever-entertaining excuse to talk to Hermione – or bicker with her, depending on her mood.

"_Hermiiioneee?"_

"_What,_ Ron?"

"Can I borrow a quill?"

"Oh for – how on earth – what happened to the one I gave you yesterday?"

"Um…it broke." (It was at the bottom of his bag.)

(A sigh) "Well, _alright._ Here."

"Thanks, Hermione."

"Oh, Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"For God's sake - _Don't_ lose this one. It's my last."

"Okay, Hermione." (He had every intention of 'losing' it in Potions later.)


	4. After Effects

"_Let's give 'em something to talk about/how 'bout love?"_

_-Bonnie Raitt - "Something to talk about"_

It was, of course, all Seamus's fault. Bloody Irishman had some sort of _sexual radar,_ Hermione swore. As soon as she'd walked into the Great Hall the morning after, blushing slightly and holding onto Ron's hand for dear life – _those big rough hands_ – she shivered – Seamus had seen it. Somehow – and she had no idea how – he'd seen something. And, of course, he'd had to announce it, too: They'd sat down at the Gryffindor table and begun to eat breakfast as usual, when he leaned in ever so slightly and, in the _loudest voice possible – _Hermione grimaced, said – ever-so-casually,

"So, Ron…Hermione. Where were you two last night? Not off somewhere shagging, I hope."

Hermione had spit out her pumpkin juice and Ron had turned beet red and started mumbling something about the Room of Requirement not being nearly as secure as people seemed to think, intermingled with various curses. The rest of the seventh years had had…_different _reactions. Dean was grinning hugely behind his _Prophet_, trying as hard as humanly possible to keep from laughing. Parvati leaned in over her boyfriend's shoulder, and seemed _very_ interested in an article about Quidditch (which they all knew she found heart-stoppingly boring), Lavender scowled at Seamus – just because she was dating him now didn't mean she was completely over Ron – after all, these things take some time. Neville began to choke on his chocolate milk. Harry (after pounding Neville on the back) simply smirked.

_"Finally_," was the only thing Ginny offered, plopping herself down next to Harry and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Morning, Harry."

_A/N: Soo…this was odd. But, I wanted to write it…so I did. Review and tell me what you think, because, personally I like it, but I don't trust my judgment AT ALL._


	5. Work

"…_This is only a test"_

_-Green Day, "Warning"_

He likes antagonizing her about grades. While she sits, night after night, in the Common Room, up until Merlin knows when, studying so hard that the words on the page begin to blur, he does what he wants. Mostly, whatever homework happens to be due the next day (this includes ridiculously long essays and projects that were assigned weeks ago), doodles, reads _Which Broomstick, _and watches her. She never takes breaks to play hangman with Harry, or sneak down to the kitchens for food, never does any pleasure reading anymore. Of course, as he likes to tease her – all reading is pleasure reading for her. Reading is the reason she exists. To which she only replies with a faint bush and an _"If you only knew, Ron…"_ When she is upset over a mere ninety-eight percent, he rejoices over an eighty-four. He never gets 'O's, and he really doesn't care. He knows there are more important things in life. Love, for instance, saved his best friend when he was only one year old, helped defeat Voldemort countless times and is what drives Hermione to scold him about everything, from homework to leaving his school supplies splayed out all over the place when he goes to bed, so that the bloody House Elves are unable to clean. She knows love is important too – far more important than grades and tests. She just refuses to give him the satisfaction of knowing it yet.


	6. Dance

"_the boys wanna fight/but the girls are happy to **dance** all night"_

_-Garbage, "The Boys Wanna Fight"_

You don't want to admit that you think that she's pretty tonight. You don't want to admit that you've always – on some strange, twisted, unconscious level – thought she was pretty. And you _certainly_ don't want to admit that you're jealous of Viktor fucking _Krum._ Because you're not...nope...ok, maybe just a little...ok, maybe you want him mauled by a wild hippogriff and then run over by a heard of centaurs. But not because he's taking Hermione to the ball...It's because he's...the – the.. towards Harry! Yeah, that's it. She's fraternizing with the enemy. Viktor Krum is Harry's enemy. And that means he's yours, too...

But where does he get off thinking he can just coming striding in, all knight-in-shining-armor-esque and knock her off her feet? Doesn't he see that she's taken? Obviously, it's written all over her face. And yours. Not that she's actually taken...not by you...because you don't have a crush on her or anything. Do you? Of course not. Well, maybe a little. But it'll go away...these things always do. You always though Parvati was pretty, after all, but you wouldn't have ever dreamed of asking her (or her identical twin sister) to the Yule Ball. You really sort of wanted to ask Hermione. Actually, you _did_ ask Hermione. But of course, she was _"already going with someone."_ Of course that someone had to be Viktor Krum, and not Neville (or you). She should have gone with Neville, at least. Just as friends, of course – but Neville would've been a lot better for her, you're sure. Neville can't compete with you. Krum, unfortunately can, and It seems he's doing a pretty good job.

Oh...here she comes. Act natural. Don't let her know you're mad... Now she's talking...about _Viktor, _of course. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

"Hasn't he asked you to call him _Vicky _yet?" Shit. That wasn't supposed to happen. And now she's flaring up – you've seen that look in her eyes before. You have two options. Either run like hell for the nearest exit, or stand and fight. You look around fervently for a way out. The only door is at the other end of the hall, and you'd have to go through the dance floor. Damn.


	7. Perfume

"_Douse yourself in cheap perfume/it's/So fitting/so fitting of the way you are/can't cover it up"_

_-Fall Out Boy, "I Slept With Someone in Fall Out Boy and All I Got Was This Stupid Song Written About Me"_

The bottle was small, made of pink tinted glass, and shaped, curiously enough, like a

rose. Its stopper was round and silver, and she pulled it put tentatively, not wanting to

spill any of its contents. It smelled, like roses – red roses, to be exact,

though she couldn't explain how she could tell. She looked down at the wrappings – there had been no label on the outside, but a small silver envelope caught her eye now. She picked it up and slit it open gently, being careful not to tear it, and slipped the glossy silver card out.

_Hermione, _(It read)

_Happy Christmas! Honestly, I am glad you're here, _

_even if it's because Dad's hurt. I missed you while you were gone._

_And, even though it sounds rather selfish now that I think of it,_

_I'm glad you're not skeeing (or whatever) with your parents and _

_we get to see you instead. I still can't see the point in skeeing. _

_you really should explain it to me better sometime. Anyway, it's good to have you here, because Harry's (of course) busy moping, and there's no one else to talk to._

_I hope you like this present. Harry said it was weird, but I said_

_you'd probably like something besides a book for once._

_Much love,_

_Ron._

Hermione grinned. He could be really sweet if he tried. She dabbed some of the perfume on her wrists and leapt off of her bed to wake Ginny.

A/N: ok. 1. I know I spelled 'skiing' wrong – that was intentional. 2. If anyone doesn't remember, Ron gave Hermione perfume for Christmas in fifth year, so that's where I got this idea. 3. I'm really sorry that I haven't been able to update regularly. I try to aim for at least every other day, but things get in the way.


	8. Gentlemen

"_Whatever happened to class?"_

_- Chicago, "Class"_

He's not a gentleman, the way Harry is. Harry pulls out Ginny's chair before she sits down, and then pushes her back in. Ron makes fun of Hermione when she isn't strong enough to do it herself. Harry opens the door for Ginny, Ron argues with Hermione about the best charm to unlock it with. Harry picks things up for Ginny when she drops them, Ron grumbles when Hermione's books make noise as they hit the floor. Harry chews his food; Ron is almost indecent to watch eating. Harry covers his mouth when he coughs; Ron purposely coughs on people he doesn't like. Harry swears only when absolutely necessary; Ron makes a point of doing so at least twice per hour. And yet, while Ginny fawns over how polite and honest and noble Harry is, Hermione finds herself giggling over Ron's blatant uncouthness. It is amusing to watch an almost grown man behave like such a little boy, and while Ginny would find the need to improve it, Hermione is happy just how it is.


	9. Territory?

You don't own me/Don't say I can't go with other boys 

_-Joan Jett "You don't own me"_

He'd stood up for her, and in doing so, he'd marked her as his territory. She was almost grateful to Malfoy for inadvertently hitting on her. Not that he'd hit on her at all – but Ron had seen it as such, because he was Ron, and that was just how he worked. They'd been down in the Potions corridor, waiting for Slughorn to come along and unlock the door to his classroom, when Malfoy had come down to their end of the corridor, Parkinson, Crabbe and Goyle in tow. They tried to make it seem as though they were simply passing by, but did a rather horrendous job of it. As he walked past her, Malfoy purposely knocked into Hermione, causing her armful of books to go tumbling to the ground. He'd simply laughed and stopped to watch her pick them up. Ron had, of course, seen this as some sort of threat to Hermione, and also, a possible opportunity to see up her skirt (forgetting that not every single boy on the planet had a mind identical to his own.). He had then punched Malfoy squarely in the jaw, just in time to see Professor Slughorn round the corner. Ron, knowing that he'd get off, leaned down, seized Malfoy by the collar, and yanked him to a standing position, slammed him into the wall; then growled in a very threatening manner,

"You ever so much as _look at _Hermione again, I swear I'll have Ginny bat-bogey you into next century, you got that?" Malfoy turned white, clearly still trying to forget past events (specifically those in Umbridge's office), but nonetheless, managed to smirk at Ron and say,

"It's a bit pathetic, Weasley, isn't it, that you have to resort to your little sister when you want to threaten someone?" Ron turned nearly purple with rage, but by that time, Hermione had picked herself up, and she was tugging on his sleeve.

"Ron, don't. He's not worth it. I'm fine, really."

"He was threatening you, Hermione."

"I can take care of myself, Ronald."

"Not when you're on the ground, picking up your books, you can't!" Hermione was about to retort, but Malfoy interrupted.

"Listen to you two, bickering on. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were married." Both Ron and Hermione flushed and said,

"Shut up, Malfoy," in unison. Harry and Seamus were both snickering, very quietly, in response to Malfoy's remark. (Someone would mention the fact that they fought like a married couple to the pair at least once a week).

"Leave him be, Ron," Hermione had said, simply, and Ron obeyed her this time, letting go of Malfoy and turning away. Harry, Dean and Neville pulled him into the classroom, before Malfoy could get in another snide remark, but Hermione, needing to ask Seamus a question about their Arithmancy homework, had stayed behind. Just as she had opened her mouth to speak, Malfoy had turned to her and said,

"You know, he's marked you."

"What the hell're you on about, ferret?" she'd spat.

"He won't let another man_ touch _you."

"Well, I should think not. He's protecting me from slime like you. He's my friend, why shouldn't he?"

"I didn't see Potter or Longbottom jump up like that to defend you. They're supposed to be your friends too, aren't they? No, Granger, he's definitely marked you. You're his territory now."

"I'm no one's territory, you foul little excuse for a wizard."

"You're his." And they'd left it at that, for Slughorn had come out to call them inside. Still, his words rang in her head. '_you're his territory now.'_ What the hell was that supposed to mean? For some reason, she wanted to find out.

AN: That was rather longer than usual, but I like it. I would just like to clarify that I am NOT implying Hermione/Draco in any way here, just that Ron's over-protective and wants to keep 'his' Hermione safe (I think I might touch on this topic again in the next chapter.). Um…I was going to say something else…oh yeah. Ok, well, if you're going to review (which you really should, you know), can you do me the tiniest favor and go review my story A Little Less Sixteen Candles? Please? I wouldn't ask, but it's my first Harry/Ginny, and I've only gotten one review so far – it's been up for like two days already, and I really want feedback, seeing as Harry and Ginny are new to me. Thank you SO MUCH!


	10. I Love You

A/N: I was feeling kind of emo and...girly...? last night, so I wrote this.

"Ron," she sobbed into her hands, shoulders quivering. "Ron, what if w-we d-die? What i-if only o-one of us-s d-dies? What about H-Harry?"

"Hey," he said, pulling her gently into his arms, "We're going to be okay. Everyone's going to be okay, Hermione."

"Y-You can't say that! You c-can't promise!" she hiccupped.

"No, I can't," Ron said. "But I _can_ promise you that I will do absolutely everything in my power to keep you safe. And if not, safe, alive."

"Oh, Ron!" She threw her arms around his neck and embraced him back, rather than just clutching the front of his shirt pathetically.

'I love you," He whispered into her hair softly. So softly, in fact, that he wasn't even sure that she'd heard him at first. But then she was pulling gently away from the comfort of his arms and looking up at him with those big brown eyes. Her cheeks were tear-stained, her curls were a mess, and her eyes were rather red and puffy, but she was still Hermione – _his Hermione, _he had to keep reminding himself – and that made her even more beautiful than ever.

"What?" she asked softly, as though not daring to hope that he'd just revealed to her what he had.

"I – he gulped – I love you."

For the second time that evening, her eyes filled with tears, and she threw her arms around him again.

"Oh, Ron," she murmured, blinking up at him through the tears. "Do you really? I mean, are you sure?" He took her face gently, in his big hands, and kissed her softly, slowly. It was different from how he usually kissed her – roughly, almost hungrily, bruising her lips with his own. .

"I've never been more certain of anything in my life."

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	11. Sleeping In

A/N: Ok, I wrote this fro someone else's fic (I'll put the link in my profile when it's up). It's just the very end of that, but I really like it.

"Yeah," he said, still smirking slightly. "So will you at least get up for a minute?" He let his index finger idly trace the pattern of her face, which was a pretty shade of pink at the moment. She shivered slightly as it grazed her cheek.

"Yes," she murmured. "Yes, I suppose we should, er – get up, then?"

"That's what I've been trying to tell you," he grinned.

"Oh, shut up!" she said, becoming bossy again in her embarrassment and climbing carefully out of his embrace. She lurched out of bed, still groggy, and headed for the door.

"Hermione?" He called her back.

"What, Ronald?" she was not a morning person (or afternoon person, as the case may be).

"You can't exactly go downstairs to Ginny's room wearing that."

She looked down. He was right. She was wearing what she'd blearily chosen as 'pyjamas' the night before. Clearly, she had been either too befuddled from the consumption of alcohol, or else just too tired to go down to Ginny's room and get herself real night things, because she was wearing an old shirt of Ron's...and underwear...her old pink cotton panties, to be exact, always one for comfort, rather than style. She blushed.

"Give me your pants," she said sharply to Ron. He raised his eyebrows. "Not the ones you're wearing, idiot!"

"Oh, right." He got out of bed and began rummaging through his dresser. "Here." He handed her an old pair of boxer shorts. She made a face, but put them on anyway. Then she began to stalk out of his bedroom again.

"Hermione?"

"What now?"

He crossed the room in three long strides and kissed her quickly, rather fiercely.

"I'll see you later." She positively dashed out of his room, leaving him standing there, smirking after her. Once outside, she leaned against the wall to catch her breath. She certainly would see him later, and only Merlin knew what would happen then.


	12. Macbeth

Sound and fury

Ron reminds her of Macbeth. Not Macbeth himself, certainly. Perhaps not even the play, specifically. Just the one line – _sound and fury_. Ron is Sound and Fury, personified. She sometimes probes him, tries to upset him because his anger is something to behold. He is even more intense when he's angry. His hair is brighter, his eyes are bluer. His voice deepens. And the way he looks at her…

Really, Ron is every Shakespearean hero, ten times more perfect. Crazier than Macbeth, better at moping than Romeo, more determined than Hamlet. Ron isn't the sort of person that can be captured in the pages of a play. You don't truly know Ron until you've stood by his side and watched him fight for Harry. Fight for your own life. Ron is perfect.


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